A Secret Short
by Annie Dolnar
Summary: "He said that when he saw her, he thought he had died and she was an angel." Dickon/Mary, Colin/OC Short story wherein Colin gives us a little insight into what happened after the books.
1. A Secret Short

"Ah, Dickon. Good to see you, sir."

It was a beautiful May day, and Colin was having tea on the terrace with a guest. Dickon was just passing by, having just finished weeding in one of the outer gardens. He smiled at his childhood friend.

"Aye, Colin. 'S allus good t' see tha. An' who mi' this be?"

"This is Miss Jane," Colin answered, holding out his hand for the young woman, who stood gracefully.

"Pleased to meet you, sir," she said politely, with a genuine kindness. Her eyes were bright, as though she was completely intrigued in the best kind of way.

"And tha," said Dickon, bowing with a matching grace.

"How is Mary? And little Rose?" Colin's excited questioning caused the young woman to look at him curiously.

"M' lass 's as brigh' as the sun these days, an' Rose 's growin' like a spring weed. She ne'er stops movin', that 'un. Other day, she came 'round whilst I was ridin' out yonder- runnin' wild she was. Ran all the way back home when she saw me. Look I gave 'er must've sent her afright. She weren' sposed t' be out.

Colin shook his head. "She managed to escape Mary's watchful eye?"

"Mary'd had a long ni', what with the other 'un kickin' and poundin'. Rose was alri', jes shouldna left her Mum behin'. Woulda been a flaysome sigh'."

"Aye, tha'!" Colin agreed, laughing. Miss Jane's eyes widened upon hearing the small foray into broadly yorkshire, something she wasn't used to hearing from the gentleman.

"I mun get back, sir. Mary'd be waitin'. Tha shouldst join us sometime soon, Colin. Mary's been askin' for thee."

"I will Dickon, certainly. I've missed her since I've been gone. Let her know I shall be there within the next week."

Dickon tipped his hat and left, and Colin and Miss Jane sat back down, Colin with a smile. Jane continued to stare at him curiously.

"You know… I've never met someone who felt so at-ease with a gardener. Colin Craven, you are quite the character."

"Gardener?" Colin's brow furrowed in confusion.

"That man- Dickon, was it? He was a gardener, wasn't he? He was rather at-ease with you, as if he were royalty. You spoke as equals."

Colin smiled a small, hopeful smile. "We were childhood friends, but he was also our gardener once, before the war. We served together in the Army- both of us were conscripted- but he was never really… meant for war, you know. I escaped much of the carnage due to my name- not that that was something I asked for, mind- but despite my father's attempts to get him placed in a safer unit, Dickon ended up on the front lines."

He sighed and had a sip of tea. "You remember Mary, my cousin? She's a bit like a sister to me. She and Dickon were friends before I really matured enough to join them, and she was devastated when he and I left. Two years into finishing school, several suitors of hers tried to hold some kind of duel for her hand. My cousin is stubborn, and of course she did not appreciate such antics, especially from men who had avoided conscription while Dickon and I were off serving in the war. She ran away around then to join the red cross, providing aid on the front lines- saw quite a bit herself, but nothing much worse than she'd seen as a child- don't look like that, she was in India until age ten."

"So they married," Jane realized. "But how? Why?"

Colin laughed. "They were in love, of course! Mary met back with Dickon one evening when he was asked to help transport some of the soldiers to the red cross tent. He said that when he saw her, he thought he had died and she was an angel. It was only about a month after that the war ended, and they nearly eloped, but I heard through word of mouth that a yorkshire lad had kissed a lady in a red cross tent and managed to contact them with mine and my father's blessing, if they would both just return home."

"That's beautiful, Colin. I've never heard such a wonderful story- well, aside from the trouble of war."

"War is never pretty, but those two belonged together from the start, Miss Jane. They had a sweet wedding in their favorite section of the gardens- one that belongs specifically to Mary- and they have one little girl and a child on the way."

Jane smiled to herself. It really was a lovely story. But if the man was not a gardener- why had he come from the gardens, covered in dirt?

As if he had read her mind, Colin said, "Mary inherited enough money from her parents to allow the two of them to live relatively comfortably, and Dickon often comes out this way to tend to her garden since she's currently too pregnant to move too far from the house. Oh, she does hate that part," he said, grinning smugly, "but I'm preparing for them to take a room in the Manor when she gets closer."

"They don't work at all?"

"Well, I'm working on turning the Moor into a sort of wildlife reserve, and once that happens, they'll be busy running that. It was actually a wish of Father's, that they do some such thing with the land. Dickon's something like Snow White when it comes to animals, and ever since the war, it's been therapeutic for both of them to spend time in the quiet of nature."

"Amazing. A wildlife reserve. I should like to see that," Jane remarked. "Mother always kept me inside in London, but I have always so loved animals and flowers… I should really like to see that."

Colin thumbed the ring he kept in his pocket and smiled.

"Perhaps you shall."


	2. Prequel: Meeting

Mary Lennox was changing the bandages on a particularly bad wound. It had been a long night, and they should still be getting more soldiers in the morning, according to the ones that had arrived before. She needed to help as many as possible, as many as could be saved…

As she finished changing the bandage, she began nudging the poor soul awake. He could sleep like the dead, this one. She found herself checking his vitals every time she passed by. Always, he had a pulse. Eventually, she learned that he could be woken with slight nudges to the stomach, and so she often left him asleep while she changed the bandage on his leg and nudged him awake in time to eat breakfast.

"More comin'," she heard someone shout. She handed the soldier his bread and a cup of water, then rushed to the entrance of the aid tent, a set frown crossing her features. Some of the more abled soldiers had begun volunteering to transport the wounded to and from the tent, but no one had been taken _from_ the tent in quite a while. How many more soldiers could they hold?

Not many, but they had to keep trying.

She watched with the others as a truck pulled up to the tent, several able men getting out, many of whom immediately grabbed other men out of the back in stretchers.

"We got sixteen!" shouted one of them, "Clear through! More comin'!"

Mary ran to help the soldiers, grabbing a small pad and paper and gathering as much information as she could about each of them. The other nurses did the same. They held the unfortunate task of determining who might live and who would certainly die- the doctor did not have enough time to work on lost causes, and often not enough time to even work on some of those who could have been far better otherwise.

One, she saw, was succumbing to infection. She had long stopped crying over each lost soldier- she would mourn after the war, she had promised herself- but she could not help but wonder how she would feel if the soldier were her Dickon or Colin or Archibald Craven, even, and someone had made the choice to let the man die in favor of saving someone else. Even so, she had seen enough cases to know that all that could be done was to hold the man's hand as he passed into death.

She allowed herself the shortest moment, to close her eyes and pray a quick prayer- for what, she didn't know. And then, it was time to work.

"What is his name?" she asked gently.

"John Dougherty," replied the soldier at the dying man's feet. "An' 'e's not but seventeen, lied to join up. Foolish chil'. Got a sweet'art back 'ome. Got a picture 'ere-"

As they set the man down on a cleared bit of ground in the tent, the soldier at his feet held out a photo. Mary barely looked at him before taking it, and was saddened to recognize the woman there.

"Diane," she murmured. "Oh John, you fool. You great and utter fool."

"Cannae thee do somethin'?"

Mary couldn't look at the soldier. She could hear it in his voice; he knew there was no saving this boy. "Sit with him, and pray. He's got a bad infection, sir. It's not likely he'll last till morning. Our supply of antibiotics is limited, but if there's enough- if there's enough, sir… I will try."

"After we get th' res' 'ere, I'd like t' stay by 'im, Miss. Wouldna, but they ask me today to take some to the bigger 'ospital on the morrow, an' I'd liken t' stay by 'is side."

"Of course, sir," Mary said, not looking up, continuing to write notes. She glanced at the soldier before he left. He looked… vaguely familiar.

It was much later that he returned with another group, and once he arrived, he immediately wanted to be of assistance.

"You can go around with dinner, if you please," a nurse immediately responded. "Take this here- yes- and go around to everyone who looks like they might be able to eat something on their own."

Mary noticed the soldier then, as they crossed paths when both reached a Mister Morris.

"Morris," she greeted. "And how are you today?"

"Blast it all," he grumbled.

"As good as ever, I see," she responded wryly, dabbing an ointment on one of his wounds.

"Morris, is it?" the soldier asked, holding out a loaf of bread. "I've dinner for thee."

"Blast it all," he grumbled again, snatching the bread and chowing down.

"Miss," the soldier said, stopping for a moment, "art thou still workin' since I last saw thee?"

Mary frowned, still concentrating on where she dabbed the ointment- she had to be careful to spread it to the right places the first time, so as not to need more. "Of course, sir."

She stopped then, and smiled to herself. "Art thou from Yorkshire?"

"Aye, Miss. Th' mos' beautiful part of 't."

She laughed, for the first time in weeks, putting all her things back into a basket that lay at her feet. "I mun dissent, for thy hast not seen the Moor!"

For the first time, the soldier looked at the woman. Really looked at her, with wide eyes, as she picked up her basket and checked something off on a sheet of paper. She felt his eyes on her as she did so, and looked back at him inquisitively, only to be struck speechless.

The silence and stillness continued for what seemed like ages, until Morris, who had just finished his rationed bit of bread, spilled his cup of water.

"Blast it all!" he shouted, causing them both to jump.

Mary swallowed. Dickon. He was here. "He'll need more water," she said. "He'll make a full recovery. He's got a sour attitude, I know, but…"

"No problem, Miss," he responded, tipping his hat, too afraid to smile, too afraid that she wasn't real.

When she had finished her rounds, Mary headed immediately for John Dougherty, next to whom Dickon lay staring at the roof of the tent. She joined him, crouching close beside him- she might have given him more space, if there was space to give- and following his eyes to a hole in the tent, through which a few stars could be seen.

"I didna think I'd see thee here," Dickon murmured, "tis no place for a lady like thysen."

"I ran away to join here. At home- I couldn't stand it, Dickon. Do you know, a group of draft dodging high-class men actually tried to hold a _duel_ for my affections? A duel, Dickon! And not one asked whether I was actually interested myself! Lord Craven put a stop to it before it could go anywhere, but a duel! And there they were, making such fools of themselves, while you were out here, putting your life in danger- rats, the lot of them! I couldn't stand it, Dickon. I felt so very useless, and I could not get away from any of it. I had to come here. I had to help."

"Thou shouldna come," he whispered. "Tis dangerous, Miss Mary."

"Dickon, I am not a child, and I am not the kind of woman who needs to be sheltered and protected all day from the horrors of real life. I can make my own decisions. I have been out here for several months now, and it is clear that my efforts have been needed. Do refrain from attempting to act as some sort of guardian to me. I have emancipated myself by running away- I belong to no one, I am no longer a fine lady, and I will not allow anyone to treat me as though I am some foolish proper girl."

Both were silent for just a moment, until suddenly Dickon smiled wide.

"Tha art th' same as when I left thee," he chuckled. "Mistress Mary, quite contrary… Didst thou know I loved thy stubborn way so much?"

He seemed to freeze a bit then, a sight which sent shivers through her.

"That's lucky, then, as I'll likely never lose my stubborn streak," she responded after a pause.

Dickon sat up and looked at John, who had, by some miracle, been allowed to take antibiotics, and was in fact improving slightly.

"Tha's no longer a "fine lady", then?"

"I have no doubt Lord Craven and Colin would welcome me back with open arms, but as far as high society goes, it simply isn't becoming of a young woman to do such a thing as run away to join the red cross, Dickon."

Dickon smiled a peculiar smile. "Tha's a fine lady, Mary, forever. But tha's no frightful high-class bird."

Mary nodded. "Exactly."

She watched his smile fade, his eyes close tight. Suddenly, he seemed to make up his mind over something.

"Miss Mary," he said, "Miss Mary, I-"

He was interrupted by the feeling of soft lips pressed against his own, a hand grasping at his shortened curls.

"Can thee read minds, lass?" he laughed as she pulled away, flushed.

"No, but thy face 'as always been an easy task," she replied, smiling.


End file.
